“Eat a big lot,” said the Kaffir, in the Boer tongue. “Ah, like this,” and he held a native basket for their inspection, at the bottom of which was a specimen of the corn with which the ponies had been fed.
“That’s right, Jack! Capital; hard as shot! There’s another shilling for you!”
The Kaffir grinned again with delight as he took the money.
“Good baas!” he said. “Two good baas! Baas want boy, Jack come ’long with you!”
“Not this time, my lad!”
“Very glad to come ’long with good baas!” said the man, in a disappointed tone of voice.
“No, we can’t take you, my lad,” said West, patting the big fellow on the shoulder. “Have the ponies saddled at daylight. We’re going early.”
The black nodded his head, and the pair, weary enough now from their long journey, and drowsy after their hearty meal, strode slowly back to the house, to find that the table had been cleared, save that a couple of big bread cakes lay on one end alongside of a little pile of biltong, the sun-dried mahogany-looking strips of ox-flesh so much in use among the rough farmers of the veldt.
The dirty-looking room smelt hot and stuffy, but a little window at the back had been thrown open, and the soft air blowing from off miles of plain made the place a little more bearable.
A common lamp had been lighted, and a streak of light came from beneath the ill-fitting door which led into the other room, from which the low murmur of voices could be heard as the young men entered talking cheerily together.